


not as we know it

by couldaughter



Series: space manhattans [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Meeting Yourself And Yourself's Husband From Another Universe, Not Star Trek Generations Compliant, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: Commander Spock broke. “I lack context for this conversation,” he said, in a tone Sarek would disapprove of greatly.





	not as we know it

The sun of New Vulcan still caught Ambassador Spock by surprise on occasion. Some mornings, just after waking and not yet fully returned to the world, he thought he could see the spires of Shi-Kahr rising just beyond the windowsill.

This was of course nonsense, but Spock had learnt that nonsense, and impossible nonsense at that, was not always the waste of time he had once thought.

Jim often liked to say that he could do six impossible things before breakfast. This was both measurably true, and a classically Kirkian expression of absurdist self confidence that Spock wished he found irritating rather than hopelessly charming.

Largely because he could no longer hide that lack of irritation from Jim, who was at that time laying sprawled across their bed, sheetless for the baking heat, and looking thoroughly debauchable, if not already debauched.

Jim had also often said that Spock was one of the six impossible things. This was also not untrue, but significantly more irritating.

Anyway, the sun.

The sun on that morning was of a particularly un-Vulcan beige, obscured by heavy dust in the atmosphere. Dust storms were a common problem on the new colony, the council wary of terraforming efforts beyond the limited expansion of the water table beneath the nearby plains.

Spock was rather wary of terraforming in general, but he had not shared such concerns with the council as yet. They were not relevant at present, and he hoped they never would be.

He pulled himself away from the bedroom with some reluctance. Jim sighed at him through their link, and rolled out of bed - presumably to get dressed, although with Jim it was difficult to say what the end result would be.

“It’s a mid-life crisis, Spock,” Jim had said, the one time he had thought to inquire about Jim’s chosen outfit. “They’ve been all the rage among us humans for a few centuries now.”

The outfits were at least attractive to Spock’s eyes most of the time, but then he supposed he had significantly differing standards from the rest of galactic society. Having Jim present in this timeline was frankly beyond what could be reasonably expected from a four dimensional universe; he was not, as the humans liked to say, going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Spock blamed T’Mal’s influence. There was little doubt that T’Mal was perhaps the best thing that could have happened to New Vulcanian bureaucratic excess, but the fact remained that she was deeply non-traditional. Her attire alone would raise eyebrows among the more conservative set; her bearing was completely unacceptable to them.

Spock admired her conviction very much, but he admired her tendency to buy Jim clothes far less. It had been inevitable that they would become firm friends, but he had not quite expected the speed at which they had done so.

Now T’Mal was present for their evening meal perhaps once a week, and could be seen working with Jim on any number of small improvements around New Vulcan during her free hours. Jim steadfastly denied any paternal feeling, and utterly failed to convince Spock at every turn.

He tugged at the belt tying his robes shut and rolled his shoulders, wincing at a twinge in his shoulder. He’d accumulated many aches and pains living on Delta Vega, of course, and only some of them had been temporary.

He felt a wave of sympathy across the link, and sent back a brush of warmth before stepping out of the front door.

They had at last yielded to the common sense invention known as the door after the fourth time Jim woke up to a lizard sat on his chest, staring ‘greedily’ at his throat - Jim’s words, only faintly comedic in tone. Spock had suggested they keep one as a pet, which Jim immediately vetoed.

The hinges already creaked - sandstorms did not mix well with them, as it turned out.

Spock had adopted his habit of taking a long morning walk some time before Jim’s unexpected arrival on New Vulcan. He found it quite peaceful, in a different way to his regular meditation sessions, to stroll through the slowly developing city and note the differences day by day. See, over there - that had once been a bare cliff face, now a beautiful mural in the pre-Surak style. That clay building was barely half a room the week prior, now already complete and inhabited by a recently arrived family.

Children were in the streets, perhaps not running and playing as humans might expect, but their joy was evident to anyone with even passing psionic abilities. It made Spock think fondly of Demora Sulu, in her younger years, and of the children he might have had, if things had turned out along a different path.

No regrets, of course. There was no sense in regret.

And speaking of different paths…

There, on the other side of the road, stood ramrod straight at the turning that led to the shuttle port, was Commander Spock. He was dust swept and looked tired beyond measure, but it was undeniably him.

“Good evening,” said Spock, feeling a sense of something like parental concern as he approached his younger self. He formed the ta’al, as was proper, and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t suppose you thought to send us an itinerary for your visit, then?”

“Good evening, Ambassador,” his counterpart replied. His ta’al was flawlessly correct, of course, but his gaze was worried. “I… apologise. This journey was not one I had intended on making so soon.”

The commander could deny feeling anything as vehemently as he liked, but Spock knew himself too well to be fooled by such protestations.

Spock found himself suppressing a smile. For the sake of propriety he tried to keep them in check while among the other colonists - there was only so much they might chalk up to senility before the more traditional among them started plotting some way of forcing him to their hasty replica of Gol - but they were still a common impulse, now Jim had returned to him.

“Follow me,” he said, and swept back the way he had come. He only glanced behind him once, to ensure that the commander was following, before hastening back towards home.

His younger self was not content merely to walk, however. He kept pace at Spock’s shoulder, despite clear fatigue.

“I wished to speak with you on a matter of some importance,” said Commander Spock, his voice low, the line of his back impeccably straight. “But I - I did not feel that I could do so in an - impersonal manner. So to speak.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Jim, who clearly felt the gesture across their link, sent back a hum of amusement.

“Subspace communication does struggle with nuance, I’ll grant,” Spock replied. “But surely a video uplink could have sufficed.”

Commander Spock did not wince, but Spock sensed that he would have if it were not a completely un-Vulcan expression. “I do not wish to impose, Ambassador.”

Spock waved that away. “No, it’s not an imposition. I apologise for my lack of clarity, Commander, I merely wish to understand why you felt it necessary to take some of your very limited shore leave to visit an old man of very little acquaintance.”

“We are more familiar than that, surely,” said Commander Spock. “At least genetically.”

Spock smiled a fraction at that. His younger self had, at least, cultivated a sense of humour, no matter how fleeting it sometimes appeared. There was hope for him yet.

“A salient point. Nonetheless, Commander -- an explanation?”

They walked in silence for long enough that they had almost reached Spock’s own door before his younger self replied. His shoulders had hunched slightly, his ears tinged faintly green.

This promised to be an entertaining conversation, if nothing else. Particularly, Spock realised, when one considered the unannounced presence of his husband in their living quarters.

He had not shared news of Jim’s return widely, for a number of reasons. Firstly, there was no one who would care on a personal level - besides, perhaps, the younger Kirk. And secondly, Spock rather liked having Jim all to himself. Informing Starfleet that parallel universes not only existed, but travel between them was clearly possible from multiple points of entry - that would result in a great deal of undesirable things. Things perhaps better left uncontemplated.

“I wished to speak with you on a matter of -- emotion.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Emotion, Commander? Why could you not speak to Lieutenant Uhura?”

“We have -- parted ways,” said the commander. He looked down at his shoes - no longer polished in the face of New Vulcan’s ever present dust cloud - and said something more, so quietly that Spock failed to comprehend his meaning.

“I fear you’ll have to speak up, Commander,” he said. “I’m not so young as I used to be. Hearing does fade rather after your first century.”

“I wish for your counsel on -- a different relationship. One which I think may have some, ah, precedent. In your own timeline.” This was spoken in the direction of the Commander’s boots, but was clear enough.

Spock sighed, and pulled open the door. “You’d best come in. Make yourself at home -- after all, what’s mine is yours.”

“I doubt legislation has been drafted for our particular circumstance,” said the commander as he stepped across the threshold. “But the sentiment is clear. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” said Spock. The living space had become far more… domestic, these past few months. Prior to Jim’s arrival there had been many other things Spock prioritised above painting and decorating; afterwards, Jim had appointed himself in the role and only paused to consult Spock very occasionally on his thoughts on some piece of furniture or another.

As a result the lounge area was arranged in a comfortable and deeply human style, a point which was only accentuated by the presence of Jim, the most eminently Human human Spock had ever known.

“Good morning,” said Jim, politely, from his position on their low couch. He was at least dressed, if rather casually, and mostly presentable, Spock thought. He was smiling, the devious smile that had been the prelude to many an adventure during their time together on the Enterprise. This time, at least, they were unlikely to encounter any whales. There was a glass half full of some unidentifiable liquid on the end table, and a plate covered in crumbs that must have once been a sandwich.

Commander Spock stopped just inside the doorway, a look on his face that was somewhere between perplexed and alarmed.

“You didn’t mention we’d be having company today, Spock,” Jim continued, motioning towards their guest. His eyes were narrowed slightly, contributing to his overall calculating air. “I would have dressed for the occasion.” He gestured at his clothing of choice - a light tunic and soft, tight fitting pants.

Spock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Commander Spock’s visit was unanticipated,” he said, slipping past his younger self to offer Jim a brief kiss, fingers pressing together for the most fleeting of moments. May as well get the difficult part of the conversation out of the way. “But I believe he wished to inquire about the nature of my relationship with one James Kirk. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Jim grinned properly, then, and nodded. He let his chin come to rest in one hand, elbows on his knees, and affected a thoughtful gaze. “Yes, I think I’ve heard the name. Some hot shot Admiral who got too big for his boots, right. I heard he blew up the Enterprise just for kicks.”

“Oh, really,” said Spock. “I had no idea.” He beckoned Commander Spock towards the couch, and sat down beside Jim. He was old enough not to feel ashamed at the creaking in his joints as he settled, but not yet old enough to prevent a sliver of annoyance.

“Mmmm,” said Jim. He nudged Spock in the ribs, and took a sip of his drink. “Say, I hear there’s a Jim Kirk kicking about in Starfleet at the moment as well. Any idea how he’s doing?” This last was directed at Commander Spock, who was stood in parade rest with his hands folded together at his back. A deeply uncomfortable pose to maintain for as long as he had, Spock knew from experience.

“He is doing… well. His death seems to have had no lasting effects at this time.” Commander Spock’s fingers twitched at the mention of Kirk’s death, Spock noticed, but his face betrayed nothing. The words sounded practiced, though. Perhaps Spock knew himself too well.

“Seems to be catching, huh, Spock,” said Jim, after a moment. “All this death and resurrection.”

“One would hope not, generally,” Spock replied. “But in your case I suppose I can forgive the concept's inherently illogical nature.”

Jim winked, because he loved to make trouble for Spock at all times. "Oh, I love when you talk logic to me."

Commander Spock broke. “I lack context for this conversation,” he said, in a tone Sarek would disapprove of greatly. “I had not realised that you were -- co-habiting.”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” said Jim. Spock shot him a warning look; Jim responded with a pulse of warm amusement and did not look at him. He formed the ta’al and fixed Commander Spock with an assessing look. “I’m Jim Kirk, but not as you know him.”

Spock turned to his younger self and felt a pang of something like sympathy at his expression of flat disbelief. He hid it well, considering the circumstances, but the corners of his mouth gave him away completely.

“I like long walks in the desert,” Jim continued, cheerfully. “And old books, and your alternate self. Particularly that last one.”

 _You are a menace_ , Spock thought forcefully in Jim’s direction. He brushed his fingers across Jim’s wrist so that the message came through clearly.

 _Is it worse to be a menace, or to love one?_ Jim thought back. It was a typically philosophical evasion, and it was deeply unfortunate that Spock continued to find such tactics charming rather than irritating. It was difficult to break a habit of decades.

Commander Spock sat down and was silent for some time. The sound of wind outside the house grew louder; there was a dust storm of some severity expected that evening. A lizard scuttled across the floor; Spock sent a joking inquiry across the bond, which Jim refused to acknowledge. The lizard slipped out under the door, presumably to find a non-vegetarian household to scavenge from - it had a slim chance of success, considering the colony. Jim sent exaggerated sadness, which Spock did not acknowledge.

“You’re very resistant to change,” he teased, resting a hand on Spock’s knee. “How we ever got to this point I will never know.”

“I did have to die first,” Spock pointed out evenly. He took Jim’s hand and sent him a gentle hum of affection. “It puts things into perspective.” He didn’t like to dwell on those events, as much as possible. The anniversary was often troublesome, even in this new timeline. It might become easier with time, now that he had the chance to share the experience with Jim once more, but it was better to avoid thinking of it at all.

“That it does,” Jim replied. He turned to Commander Spock, who had regained some of the colour in his face. “I suppose you have questions.”

“That is one way of articulating my position, yes,” said Commander Spock. His delivery was flawlessly Vulcan, inflection-free, but his expression once again betrayed him.

Jim took another sip of his drink, winced, and sighed. “Lay them all on me, Commander. I never could resist a Vulcan officer’s curiosity.”

“How are you present in this time, in this place? I had inferred that you perished some time before my counterpart was sent to this universe.” The commander leaned forward, just slightly, and narrowed his eyes.

“That’s not a story I have a good answer to, I’m afraid,” replied Jim. Spock caught a fragment of a memory across the bond, something fractal and twisting. “I was on a routine diplomatic mission - my last before retirement, as it happens. And I ended up in the Sokolov sector instead, on a rescue ship, with not much but my wits to guide me.”

“And you knew that my counterpart was present in this time already?”

Jim snorted. “Lord, no. I thought I was alone. Took me a month to find out about Vulcan - knew I had to see whether you were alright. I mean you you, not my you. I could feel him, a little, but I assumed it was a sort of transference. I’ve never really understood any of that, myself, made a couple of wild assumptions. It’s my strong suit.”

Spock suppressed a smile.

“So you came to New Vulcan.” Commander Spock seemed affected by Jim’s declaration, his mouth a softer line. Spock thought that the commander had a great deal to learn about Jim Kirk’s capacity for empathy, if such a simple thing had shocked him.

“So I came to New Vulcan,” said Jim. “And I made a friend, and pissed off T’Pau, and found out I wasn’t quite so alone as I’d assumed.” He smiled, something small and private, and glanced at Spock.

Commander Spock’s posture had relaxed somewhat, his spine bending in the grip of the armchair, and he looked almost comfortable as he absorbed Jim’s story. “And you are --”

He looked back and forth between Jim and Spock, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Not you and your Kirk,” said Jim, kindly. “But I suppose we could be. If that’s what you came here to ask about.”

“It was,” said Commander Spock. His fingers twitched towards his pocket - and his communicator, Spock presumed. “And thank you, in that case.”

“Any time,” said Jim, and raised his glass. “Feel free to stay a while, of course. I’m most interested in what this newer, younger model of me is up to. Besides dying. I think we ought to leave that one alone. Don’t like to tempt fate, you know.”

“Of course,” replied Commander Spock. He glanced around the room, clearly taking in the finer details he had as of yet been too distracted to notice.

Spock felt almost fond of his younger self, in that moment. He really did have a great deal ahead of him.

“Stay, then, if you wish,” said Spock, feeling that he ought to confirm Jim’s invitation. “I have no doubt that tales of Captain Kirk’s famous exploits could while away even the longest afternoon. Either Captain Kirk, in fact.”

“I shall take it under advisement, Mister Spock.” Jim grinned at him. Spock felt momentarily overwhelmed by his very presence, but that was alright. He was getting used to the sensation.

With great purpose, Spock rested a hand at the base of Jim’s neck. He could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath his hand, and a familiar hum of contentment through the bond. “Be careful that you do.”

“Oh, always. How could I not, with you here to remind me?”

**Author's Note:**

> this is a series now! and yes, the series is named space manhattans. jim is drinking a space manhattan in this story. 'it's five o'clock somewhere, spock,' he says companionably, pouring himself a cocktail for brunch and pushing his cateye sunglasses to the top of his head. there's a paper umbrella involved in this somewhere, i think.
> 
> anyway, enjoy the fic! the title is a copout because i could not in good conscience name it 'space manhattans' but that is its actual spiritual name, so. yeah.
> 
> find me on twitter and tumblr @dotsayers! not currently doing much of anything besides complain about workload and yell about she-ra. i live a good life


End file.
